


Pinstripes

by Rigel126



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Human!Thace, Human!Ulaz, Lance has a muscle kink, M/M, Mafia Boss!Lance, Shiro blushes a lot, Sugar Baby!Shiro, TW: dubcon (power imbalance), mafia!au, minor Ulaz x Thace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 22:32:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13691205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigel126/pseuds/Rigel126
Summary: (DISCONTINUED FIC) Shiro somehow finds himself as the new boy-toy of Don Lance McClain, the Godfather of Miami. And Lance can't keep his hands off Shiro's smoking hot body. Hijinks ensues. A series of loosely-connected drabbles as Lance molests the hell out of Shiro's pecs.





	1. Feel Him Up

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Tumblr. Check out my fic master list for the latest chapters!
> 
> https://rigel126.tumblr.com/post/160012099638/rigels-fic-master-list
> 
> (Note: this series will not be updated)

“Oh. My. God!” Don Lance McClain’s voice was an excited squeal, muffled as it was by Shiro’s muscly pec cleavage.

“Uh, Don McClain. I-I don’t think I can do this job…” whimpered Shiro, terrified. Shiro was a big buff guy like any fireman ( _former_ fireman, he thought bitterly) but the man feeling him up was Don Lance McClain, the godfather of Miami. He certainly felt like a rabbit in the jaws of a hungry tiger.

“Nonsense! You’re perfect!” Lance, like a happy puppy, rubbed his face against Shiro’s scar-ridden chest. “This body of yours worth every penny!”

Shiro’s face was rapidly turning as white as the tuft of white hair above his forehead. “B-b-but selling my body… I can’t…”

Lance nonchalantly massaged Shiro’s chest muscles with one hand. “Senor Shiro,” he sighed. “You _can_. You must believe in yourself. Besides…” Lance’s eyes glinted sharply. “You’re jobless, homeless, and your mother’s hospital bills are in the thousands. You _need_ this job.”

Shiro gulped.

“Ah… this is heaven! Just deal with it for three months, Senor Shiro, and all your money problems will go away. You might even walk away with a nice sum of money.”

Shiro squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, praying for the ground to open up beneath his feet while Don McClain continued to fondle his naked torso and delight in Shiro’s impressive musculature.

 


	2. Clothes Makes the Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance takes Shiro out for some fancy clothes shopping.

Jobless, homeless, and owing thousands of dollars in hospital debt, former firefighter Shiro found himself at the mercy of Don Lance McClain, the godfather of Miami. The Don had a very disturbing interest in Shiro’s physique…

And now, Shiro found himself in a bespoke suit shop, getting his measurements taken by an elderly master tailor and his two younger assistants, who wisely avoided eye contact with Shiro. Shiro himself tried his hardest not to think of Lance lounging on a couch not too far away, lazily eyeing Shiro like a tiger, deciding whether or not to devour him whole.

When the tailors were finished and withdrew their measuring tapes, Shiro fairly dove for his jacket, feeling exposed before Lance in just his white dress-shirt that had turned translucent with his cold sweat, but Lance clicked his tongue in disapproval. The young mafia boss plucked the jacket from Shiro’s prosthetic fingers and handed it over to one of the boys, saying, “Shiro, I’ve had it up to here with those _things_ that you are wearing. If you are to remain in my presence on a daily basis, you must have better clothes.”

Behind Lance, the master tailor and his assistants nodded in agreement, muttering their disapproval at Shiro’s cheap, polyester clothes that came off the rack of Walmart.

“I-I can’t help it, Don McClain,” stammered Shiro. “This is the best I can afford. You know that.”

Lance sighed. “Well, can’t be helped then. Maestro Castillo, show me your ready-made collection. Tonight, Miami shall have another fine _caballero_.”

“ _Si_ , Don McClain.”

In the next half-hour, Lance skimmed through two-piece suits, dress-shirts, leather shoes and all manner of formal menswear and made Shiro try them on for the Don’s viewing pleasure. Several times, Lance went to into the fitting room with Shiro, ostensibly to help him change. Shiro’s panicked gasps and muffled pleading were wilfully ignored by the tailors and Lance’s bodyguards: if the most powerful – and possibly most dangerous – man in Miami wanted to get naughty with another man, well… So far, there hasn’t been anyone stupid enough to say anything about it.

Shiro stumbled out of the fitting room, his white hair floof drooping a little lower on his forehead than usual. His face was haggard, but he looked a hundred times better than when he first stepped into the couture shop. His suit jacket, while not cut perfectly to Shiro’s athletic proportions, fitted his shoulders and torso much better and it was made of high-quality cotton gabardine instead of cheap polyester; ditto for Shiro’s new trousers. Lance had Shiro wear a silk dress shirt with the top two buttons open for a tantalizing view of Shiro’s strong chest.

Lance gave Shiro a pensive, frowning once-over and said, “Still not quite good enough, but much better than before.”

To the master tailor, Lance commanded, “I want three sets of everything I’ve chosen, underwear too.”

“Don McClain, please don’t! I can’t wear such nice clothes. I won’t be able to pay –“

Lance put two fingers on Shiro’s lips to shut him up. “Don’t you worry about that, _guapo_. They’re gifts for you.”

“But –“

“Be a good boy and just take them, Shiro.” Lance’s lips turned upwards. “The godfather of Miami commands you to.”

“Y-yes, sir…”

Lance clicked his tongue. “What should you do when someone buys you a _very big_ gift?”

“Thank you, Don McClain..?”

“That’s only if someone gets you a small gift. I just got bought you a _very big_ gift.” As a hint, Lance, held his arms open.

Shiro took the hint and awkwardly hugged Lance. “Thank you, Don McClain.”

“Lift me up and spin me around. That’s it!” Lance laughed like a child while Shiro held him in a strong bear hug and took Lance right off his feet. He clung onto Shiro’s broad and hard shoulders, enjoying the close contact with such a fine body of muscles.

When Shiro finally put him down, Lance leaned into Shiro’s front and rested his head on Shiro’s shoulder while his arms wrapped around Shiro’s firm waist. Shiro blushed at this public display of intimacy.

After a while, Lance snuck a peek at his watch. “Well, well, well! Two more hours before our dinner reservation! Plenty of time left for more shopping!”

“ _More_ shopping?” Shiro could not believe his ears, just as much as he could not believe his eyes when the maestro brought Lance the bill for all of Shiro’s new clothes (Shiro had never seen so many digits on a single bill in his entire life).

“Of course!” Lance glanced up innocently at Shiro, who gulped at having the Don’s face so close to his. “We still need to get you shoes, a watch, and some matching jewellery! You now have new neckties and shirts with French cuffs, so you’ll need tie-clips and cufflinks… Oh! And some nice silver rings and a pendant!”

Shiro sighed in defeat, until Lance squeezed his ass and made Shiro yelp in shock.

“Chin up and chest out, Shiro! Clothes might make the man, but a man must deserve his clothes. Now, let us be off!” Lance herded a deflated Shiro out of the shop one arm looped around’s Shiro’s hips.


	3. Quiet Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy drabble with Shiro comforting Lance at night.

The aftershocks of the explosion continued to linger in Lance’s ears, as did the terrible, burning pain that seemed to be ripping his back open. It took him great effort to make his heavy limbs move. 

Slowly, Lance raised his head from the sharp gravel and tarmac that scratched his cheek. He craned his neck over his shoulder, looking at the burning car and the tongues of fire and smoke reaching upwards for the night sky. His eyes widened in shock.

“ _¡PAPÁ!”_

*

Lance awakened in a most brutal fashion, eyes snapping wide open as he bolted upright with a horrified gasp. But as soon as he did this, an agonizing bolt of pain down his spine caused him to cry out and he collapsed back on his bed, his back muscles seizing up in painful, excruciating cramps.

“Nnn… Huh? Eh?! Don McClain! What’s wrong?” A panicky Shiro rose up from the other side of bed, shirtless (as per his boss’s orders).

“My back… pain … Aspirin… hurry…” Lance gestured weakly towards at the kitchen.

“Uh, okay!” Shiro hurriedly stumbled off to the kitchen and then rushed back with painkillers and a tall glass of water. Shiro helped Lance to sit up. Lance McClain, the godfather of Miami, seized the glass with a trembling hand and washed down the two aspirin tablets, rivulets of water spilling from the corners of his mouth.

Shiro took away Lance’s glass and gently lowered him back onto the bed.

Lance immediately rolled onto his side and with one arm tried to massage his cramping back muscles.

“Let me help,” said Shiro. “Please lie on your stomach.”

Lance did as he was told, but as soon as Shiro touched the hem of his pajama top, Lance smacked Shiro’s hand away. “My shirt stays on,” Lance hissed through his pain.

Shiro was surprised, but said nothing in protest. Instead, Shiro gently massaged Lance through his shirt.

“Your back is really tight,” Shiro commented. “Let me know if I’m hurting you too much, alright?”

“Mm.”

Shiro patiently kneaded Lance’s back, trying to work out the kinks in the hardened, cramping muscles.

“Don’t take it personally…”

“Huh?”

“I just have a really big scar on my back. I don’t really like anyone seeing it.”

“Oh, okay.”

Quiet seconds passed. Shiro continued to massage Don McClain.

“Feeling better?”

“Mm. Thank you, Shiro. That’s enough.”

“Night-time cramps can be caused by the cold, so be sure to wear something warmer to sleep next time.”

“Well, I have you, don’t I?” grumbled Lance. “What’s the point of making you sleep in my bed if you can’t keep me warm?”

Shiro was glad that the bedroom was dark, so Lance couldn’t see him blush.

“Now get back in here with me. I need a back-warmer.”

Shiro chuckled softly. “Yes, sir.” He got back under the sheets and spooned Lance.

“This is heaven,” murmured Lance dreamily as he settled into the warm pocket formed by Shiro’s body.

“Good night, Don McClain.”

“Lance.”

“Huh?”

“You have my permission to call me Lance, but only when we’re alone.”

Shiro smiled against Lance’s hair. “I see. Good night, Lance.”

“Good night, Shiro.”


	4. Awkward Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro and Lance being two awkward idiots (like me the author). And Lance's bodyguards have names!

At the doorway of his penthouse, Don Lance McClain, the godfather of Miami, sighed into Shiro’s muscular chest and tightened his grip around Shiro’s waist.

“Boss, we have to go _now_ ,” insisted one of his bodyguards, who stood holding the door open for Lance.

“I know that, Ulaz.” Lance did not bother hiding his annoyance in his retort. “Just let me gather my nerves for a while more, okay?”

“You’ll be fine,” reassured Shiro, who rubbed Lance’s back through Lance’s customary pinstripe jacket. “Just pretend that you’re talking to a bunch of plush toys. That’s how you speak in public without feeling afraid.”

Lance snorted. “Me? The godfather of Miami, _afraid_? It’s just a bloody speech in the Miami City Police HQ with a gazillion cops just _dying_ to shoot my ass -”

“Boss…”

Lance turned to growl in Ulaz’s direction, until Shiro pressed a kiss on his forehead.

Lance stared back at Shiro, shocked. He blushed.

Shiro looked away and deliberately cleared his throat. “Go on, Lance. Be great.”

“Boss-“

Lance shut Ulaz up with a click of his fingers and a warning finger.

Lance made to leave, but unexpectedly reached out with one hand, grabbed Shiro’s new silk necktie which Lance bought for him, and pulled the taller man in. Lance kissed Shiro on the cheek and then shoved Shiro away, flushing furiously.

“Thace, Ulaz, _vamos_.” Lance shoved his fedora down on his slicked-back hair and stormed off to the lift with a worried-looking Thace jogging after him.

Ulaz gave Shiro a sour scowl before shutting the door in Shiro’s face. For fifteen minutes, Shiro stared wide-eyed at that polished wooden door, carefully touching the damp, burning spot on his face where Miami’s crime boss kissed him.

 


End file.
